


Rietveld

by kixotical



Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Jordie Rietveld Lives, Character Analysis, Dark Academia Vibes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Merchant Kaz Brekker, but it diverges from when kaz is a child so??, it's more likely than you think, kaz brekker? smiling??, kaz-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:41:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25564543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kixotical/pseuds/kixotical
Summary: "What exactly doyoudo?" The strange Suli girl arches a brow.Kaz can only shrug. "What I can do. I seize the opportunities I'm given and make do with anything else.""The tongue of a true merch.""People speak the language of those that suit them," he says simply.—In which Jordie and Kaz never get swindled, and Kaz grows up in a very different world.
Relationships: Kaz Brekker & Inej Ghafa, Kaz Brekker & Jan Van Eck, Kaz Brekker & Jordie Rietveld, Kaz Brekker & Wylan Van Eck, Kaz Brekker/Inej Ghafa
Comments: 61
Kudos: 159





	1. Red Wine on Dark Wood

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, I follow Kaz on a self-discovering quest around the city and study Kaz and Jordie's characters.
> 
> Here's a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0RTvkcXSQfF898dQxSTumx?si=9wJ6vntaQJOkZhk90qmAXw) of songs I want in a dark academia show that I listen to while I write because it would be a crime to vibe as hard as I do without giving you guys the chance to experience those same vibes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So what is a Suli girl when there's no one to please?"
> 
> "Free."
> 
> —
> 
> A smirk, a gala, and a girl in the dark.

_ "Absorbed in His Studies" by Eilif Peterssen, 1874 _

* * *

"You're going to go gray, you know."

Kaz glances up from his desk. Or rather, Jordie's desk. But right now, Jordie stands in the doorway with a smirk on his lips and an extra muss to his hair. There is undone work on the desk, so for now, the desk is Kaz's.

He absently runs a hand through his black locks. "Ghezen forbid I succumb to the demon of aging."

"Aging is reserved for those who have already done away with their lives," Jordie says, taking a few steps into the room. "I wouldn't expect you to join them so soon."

There's a playful lilt to Jordie's voice when he speaks. Kaz scoffs, but he can feel the faintest smile ghosting his lips.

"If that's the case, then you clearly don't have the best judgment." Kaz turns back to the desk, his eyes readjusting from life in motion to ink on paper.

There's a pang of silence, and for a moment Kaz thinks Jordie forgot to shut the door. Then he hears footsteps on hardwood and the soft _plop_ of weight on a cushioned chair behind him.

"I think I already finished most of that," Jordie points out from his armchair.

"You did. I'm just tending to the scraps," Kaz replies.

A low chuckle escapes Jordie. "You know, I hear wine offsets the effects of graying," he says, and Kaz shakes his head.

"It also offsets _logic_ ," he points out, then pauses. "I'll take a glass when I finish."

Now it's Jordie's turn to scoff. "By then, it'll have aged a whole new caliber. You'd be smarter to sell it over drinking it."

Despite himself, Kaz feels another small smile cross his lips. His brother is a comfort; the one thing he's come across that lets him soften himself as much as he can. This city may be relentless, but it's much easier to exist in it when are places to relax.

"Kruge in my pocket and files in my drawer. What a shame," Kaz says with a chuckle, barely looking over his shoulder.

If he needed to, Kaz could just keep the books in his head. But most of the people that work for them don't have his savvy for keeping numbers, and Kaz trusts himself far more than any other random merch to take the brunt of the work.

"A shame that you'd be one drink shorter," Jordie replies, the same mischievous lilt to his voice.

"I believe I'd manage," Kaz says simply. Jordie is the only person Kaz tolerates when he's doing his work, so he doesn't mind these little chats.

People like Jordie are what make things tolerable. So he doesn't mind Jordie barging in on his quiet work when his brother has spent the better part of the night out and about.

Because that's simply who Jordie _is._ Loud and upfront and not afraid to hide it. He's easy to hide behind and allows Kaz to sink into himself and keep to the shadows, protected, and getting things done.

He's his brother, and that makes a lot of things a little bit easier. Not everything, but enough to get by. And for Kaz, that seems to be enough.

* * *

_There is an ache in Kaz Rietveld's bones._

_It's always there, dull and throbbing. Jordie says it's just the old man in him. Neither of them believes in souls, but if they did, Kaz feels he would be ancient._

_Strangely enough, he doesn't take much comfort in the idea. There's a reason he doesn't believe in souls. The idea of gods and saints picking what comes and goes with such ease adds a chill to the pang in his body._

_Fate is not a welcome friend of his. It is a silver-tongued charlatan, baiting people into docility with pretty lies: telling them that things aren't their fault and luring them into a stagnant sleep._

_Kaz had decided a long time ago that this dull pain is his to bear. And as easy as it would be to decide that this is just the way he's made, he knows that's not the case._

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce— _Tante Heleen and the Menagerie!"_

Kaz peers up from over his wine glass. He's not a big fan of Tante Heleen. She reeks of too-much perfume and moves like a wiry old cat. Besides, he's never been a big customer for brothels.

Still, he can't deny her impact in the governing world. Tante Heleen has a hand in every pocket, and it wouldn't be too far fetched to assume that at least a quarter of the merches here have indulged in her services.

So when the time had come to open the invitation for the merchant gala tonight, the Menagerie was right there in black letters. Kaz hadn't complained, but he isn't about to go hitting up doe-eyed fawns and dark-haired serpents.

The crowd hoots as the myriad of girls from all over the world floods in, dressed in eye-bleeding colors and far more skin than must be comfortable in the autumn weather of Kerch.

"Aw, what's wrong," Jordie chuckles from beside Kaz, nudging him gently with his elbow. "Not a fan of exotic girls?"

Kaz only sighs, setting his wine glass on an ornately designed pier table against the wall. "Not a fan of the Menagerie," he mutters. The Menagerie is almost more of a theatre troupe than a pleasure house, with girls dressing up in ridiculous costumes that Kaz would be hard-pressed to take seriously.

Jordie shrugs and leans back in the wall. "Can't even blame you. Never been a big fan of brothels myself."

Kaz knows that Jordie doesn't engage in pleasure houses. He doesn't exactly practice abstinence, but he doesn't go as far as to go purchase ladies who are contractually required to perform for him.

Kaz himself isn't against brothel women. In this city, you make do with what you can. If what you can do is lucrative, then Kaz isn't one to judge. But the Menagerie is one big headache, and Kaz has enough sense to know that most of Tante Heleen's girls aren't exactly in it by choice.

"Hey—check it out," Jordie says with an impish grin, leaning closer to Kaz. He points out across the ballroom, and Kaz follows his gaze to a large man in a dark mercher suit eyeing a pair of Menagerie girls who both look young enough to be his daughters.

Kaz snorts a bit into his drink. He knows the man as Mr. Masek, and he's not surprised in the least that he would be so quick to go for the Menagerie girls.

Jordie calls him _Jumbo_ behind his back, and Kaz doesn't even feel bad about it because the man is a nightmare to be around. Kaz can't imagine any girl going for him in real life.

"Imagine having to cater to a man like that," Jordie remarks with a wince at the Menagerie girls. 

Kaz feels his stomach turn at the thought of it. A life under Tante Heleen is certainly not something he would wish on anybody. "I would gouge my own eyes out if that were me," Kaz scoffs, placing down his wine cup.

Jordie gives a small laugh, and Kaz can't help but chuckle with him.

* * *

_Kaz is fifteen when he drops out of school._

_It's not a spur of the moment decision. He had been pondering it for a while, but he spends a week or two seriously thinking about it. He ponders what it could mean and what it could do for him. But in the end, he decides it's for the best._

_There's nothing useful left for him in school. He's acing all his tests and levels above the rest of his classmates. It's a pain to attend, and the thought of spending any more years there when he could do something useful makes him sick to his stomach._

_Jordie isn't angry when Kaz tells him the news. At that point, he was barely attending anyways, and both of them saw it as a waste of money. Kaz is grateful that it stopped there._

_He doesn't want to tell Jordie the other reason that he left school. That deep down, some part of him was antsy being away from the stocks and their trades. Because that meant that Jordie was in charge of their money. And frankly, the thought of that twists a pit in Kaz's stomach._

* * *

Jordie and Kaz are lost in conversation when an older man that Kaz can't be bothered to know the name of emerges from the crowd. He's thin and sickly-looking, with a wine glass in his hand and top hat on his head.

"Ah, Mr. Rietveld. Mr. Rietveld," the man says, turning to Jordie and Kaz in turn. "I hope you're enjoying the gala?"

Jordie turns to face the man with a half-intrigued, half-uninterested smile. "It's been... _entertaining,_ to say the least. Wouldn't you agree, Kaz?"

Kaz glances over at a group of men hovering around a young Kaelish girl in a skimpy horse costume. He never understood what was so appealing about dressing like a horse. "...It seems that way."

The man gives another smile, and he can't help reminding Kaz of a canal rat. "That's good to hear! I, uh...I hope that you won't mind meeting an associate of mine?"

Jordie turns to look at Kaz, and Kaz looks at Jordie. They both know how these functions work. While attractions like the menagerie girls certainly liven things up, the real purpose of galas like this is about status.

It's all about being among the elite, mingling with others in your caliber, and making strong connections. To true merchants, everything is a business opportunity if you played your cards right. And Kaz would be lying if he said he hadn't talked to a few important people tonight.

"I don't think we would mind at all," Jordie says with a dazzling smile. And thus, they're off.

The hours melt into each other, Jordie doing a good portion of the talking and Kaz dipping in when he needs to. Kaz isn't much for the partying scene, but when he needs to he can easily turn the charm on.

He could be laughing with girls and drinking the night away, but Kaz finds that this will help him sleep easier tonight. Mingling and making impressions will certainly have better effects than a night spent drowning in pleasure.

He supposes it's easier to keep to himself and stick to business. He's never been the most outgoing of people, which is probably why (on top of being the older one) Jordie is the face most people think of when they hear _the Rietveld Brothers._

But Kaz is okay with this. He's always had Jordie in front of him, which gives him room to work unimpeded behind the scenes. Even in their early years, when Jordie was out finding work and making money, Kaz tended to himself. He practiced his magic tricks and studied the world, trying to see what made things tick.

He supposes he's still trying to see what makes things tick. That's what makes him such a good mercher.

The night drags on, hours falling away like grains of sand in an hourglass. Kaz isn't sure what time it is. At some point, he and Jordie step away for a moment, and he stifles a yawn.

Jordie nudges Kaz in the shoulder. "Don't tell me you're getting tired already," he says with a playful smile, rolling a wine glass in his hand.

Kaz rolls his eyes and shoves him back. "Don't be stupid. We've been at this for hours," he shoots back. He looks around to see several people, Menagerie girls included, have already left the ballroom. However, for the most part, the gala is still swinging.

"I'm gonna step out for a moment. I'll be back in pinch," Kaz says, already walking over to one of the arches at the back end of the ballroom. These parties are informative, but taxing nonetheless.

* * *

_Kaz Rietveld is not an unblemished man. He's had to claw and scrape and scratch at survival, sleeping at night with nothing but his hopes, his wits, and his brother to keep him warm._

_The world is a weary place. It leaves jagged paths and steep climbs for anyone unfortunate enough to be tossed at the bottom. To work your way up and stay there leaves scars on the palms and wrinkles on the spirit._

_Kaz has seen the ins-and-outs of Ketterdam life. He has endured the venom shot at him and spat it out himself. He is not as kind as he would like or as thoughtful, but on good days, he smiles and he tries._

_He supposes the ache in his bones is exhaustion. He's tired of worrying, and the pain of being a quiet cynic has taken a toll on his bones._

_But he endures nonetheless, with scars and all. He watches the world with an analytical eye, whispering into his brother's ear as pieces of puzzles only he can see fall into place._

_He may not be the first face of the Rietveld brothers, but any citizen with a hand in the market knows that Kaz Rietveld is not one to swindle._

* * *

It's much dimmer out in the hall than it is in the ballroom. The lanterns haven't been tended as frequently, leaving lazy shadows barely visible and a thin haze of darkness over everything. In a way, it's almost calming.

Kaz finds that it feels much more natural to be here, among the dark walls and flickering lights. The clamor of the gala fades away behind thick wood-paneled walls and grand archways. Back in the ballroom, everything is loud and pulsing. Here, things are quiet and slow. There are no mind-numbing distractions meant to turn heads and meaningless pleasures to waste time.

Kaz hasn't been out long when he hears the crying. At first, he's not even sure it's crying. There's no sobs or wails or anything even like that. Instead, it's much more discreet—shuddering breaths and low sniffles.

It's so faint, he doesn't even hear it until the party is nothing more than a faint murmur. Kaz might have even believed it was a ghost. Of course, Kaz isn't quite sure what he believes in these days.

On the one hand, he could just go back to the gala. There are connections to be made and handshakes to be had. But on the other hand, he can feel curiosity pricking needles in his skin, making his mind spin and wonder.

He's not going to get involved. But he can hear them just around the corner, breathing ragged in the dark. It sounds like a girl, but most of the merches are men. And anyhow, he's found that most of the female merches would be hard-pressed to let themselves cry in the boys' club.

He's already decided it's one of the Menagerie girls by the time he turns the corner to find a little lynx holding herself in front of a grand painting. She doesn't sit down on the floor—clearly, she doesn't want to let herself go that far.

But her head hunches down towards her chest, her bare arms not quite crossed but holding one another as though she's comforting herself. A purple and gold cat mask lies on the floor, letting her dark hair sweep over her face and hide her behind her own private curtain.

The dim lanterns glow on her soft bronze skin, the black feather of the Menagerie a dark spot on her arm—impure and tainted. Her breaths are quiet, but her chest rises and falls, and when she looks up at Kaz, her cheeks are tearstreaked.

Kaz freezes. Her gaze is a midnight sky devoid of any stars; a universe with no light to fill it. She looks shocked at first, but her gaze quickly settles into what Kaz can only pin as resignation. Her brows settle closer together as she looks at Kaz with her quiet, infinite gaze.

"...I'm assuming you're not enjoying the party," he finally says when the quiet has gone on too long.

He's not sure what he expected, but the girl's face doesn't change. "And how would you expect me to enjoy it?"

Her accent is Suli, but her voice is dull and flat.

"I would guess not hidden away in the hall," Kaz replies. He begins to take a step closer, but the girl tenses, so he decides on staying where he is. This night suddenly got a bit more interesting, and he would hate to scare her off.

"And yet, I see you're here as well," the girl points out.

Kaz only shrugs and gives a small smile that he hopes is comforting. "I suppose we're not meant for the limelight."

The girl doesn't smile back. Her gaze remains steely and cold, but another tear slips down her cheek. She takes a deep breath and turns her head away from Kaz.

"...You'll have to give me a moment to gather myself," she finally says quietly, wiping at her cheek. "I'm sorry. I didn't expect anyone to find me like this."

"I don't want your services," Kaz says quickly as the girl begins to reach for her mask. "I just wanted to get away from the gala for a moment."

The girl freezes. Then, slowly, she straightens herself back up, leaving her mask on the floor. "...That makes two of us," she says warily, looking Kaz up and down.

"I suppose the merches aren't very popular with you," Kaz says, peering up at her.

"How I feel about _them_ doesn't matter," she says, eyeing Kaz for a beat too long. "Suli girls are typically crowd-pleasers."

Kaz clears his throat. He knows this girl doesn't see him as another boy or a party guest. To her, he's another part of the job. Of course, he can hardly blame her for thinking like that.

"So what is a Suli girl when there's no one to please?" He proposes, looking around the empty hallway.

The girl looks Kaz over for a long moment, her dark eyes narrow. "There's always someone to please."

"Humor me."

The girl goes quiet, looking down at herself as though pondering the question. "Free," she decides after a long moment. "Girls are free when they do not have to please." Her voice is as sharp as a wicked blade.

She speaks with more conviction than when Kaz first ran into her. He doesn't know if that's good for him, but it brings him a strange amount of comfort.

"A noble ambition," Kaz comments, leaning against the opposite wall.

"Freedom shouldn't have to be an ambition."

"There are a lot of things in this world that shouldn't be," Kaz points out. "But I've found that musing about it doesn't do much good."

The girl looks up at Kaz. "Oh? Then what exactly do _you_ do?" She arches a single dark brow.

At that, Kaz can only shrug. "What I can do. I seize the opportunities I'm given and make do with anything else."

"The true tongue of a merch."

"People speak the language of those that suit them," he says simply. "You, for example, speak of goodwill and morals. It's a shame it's a dead language around here."

With a silent hand, the girl reaches up and brushes the hair out of her face. Her skin really is flawless. It's no wonder Tante Heleen picked her for the Menagerie. "There have to be a few left to speak it. Otherwise, the world descends into madness."

"I suppose the ignorant would. But the truly conniving would turn to logic. And in most cases, logic means money," Kaz says with a raise of his brows.

The girl sighs. "Then it would seem all the devils are here."

Kaz chuckles lightly. "It seems you're catching on."

The girl knits her brows together. She looks Kaz up and down, as though she isn't quite sure what to make of him. "...So what are you? A devil?" She finally asks.

Kaz bites the inside of his cheek. He's thought about this question more often than he would like, but he's only rarely said it out loud. Then again, he highly doubts he'll see this girl again. "I prefer the term devil's advocate," he finally decides.

"I suppose that's considered a moral high ground around here," she mutters, gazing around at the sprawling mansion.

"Lynx, right now you are an angel compared to most in this house."

"Does this include you as well?"

Kaz pause. "I prefer to think that I'm still a man."

The girl closes her eyes and gives another sigh. "You know, I don't like it when people call me _l_ _ynx."_

"Fair enough," Kaz agrees with a nod. "What would you prefer I call you?"

The girl pauses, then parts her lips. "Most just call me Inej."

First name basis. Whatever this girl is, she certainly isn't stupid. Of course, she's probably been forced to give her name out to plenty of men before him. "Kaz."

"Rietveld, I know. I heard some men talking in the ballroom," Inej says.

Kaz gives a small smile. "Well, Inej, let's hope your good conscience lasts longer than most."

The Suli girl looks at Kaz. She doesn't smile—not even close—but her muscles seem to lose a tiny bit of their tension.

She sighs, her deep black gaze meeting Kaz's. "Let's both hope for that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got this idea in the shower and I just _had_ to bang it out before I swept it under the rug  
> (Also if you read this to the end, I hope you wouldn't mind dropping a comment please-)


	2. Claws in the Stomach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're very young to know what you're doing."
> 
> "Believe me, the younger of us can learn very quickly."
> 
> —
> 
> The line between enemy and samaritan blurs for the conniving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the chapter I'm the least proud of but y'know :')

_ "Odyssey VI" by Aldo Balding, 1906 _

* * *

_Kaz's schoolboy uniform itches. Normally he doesn't mind traditional high-class fashion: sophisticated and dark clothes have always had an appeal to him. But his uniform, with its unnecessary amount of white embellishment and overuse of padding, feels ridiculous._

_He can't stand it, but every day he puts up with it a bit longer as he strolls down Ahlbrinck Street. Most of the city is beyond industrialized, but here and there you'll find pockets of space that at least try to act like they have a small connection with nature._

_Even Kaz knows that the spindly trees and busy waterways lining the streets are hardly an excuse for wildlife, but even so, he finds it strangely peaceful. Besides, he's hardly the only one who does._

_"I was starting to think your tutors were keeping you," Kaz says as he passes the boy with red-blonde hair. Wylan's head snaps up from the music sheet on his lap, his fingers halting in tapping out the melody on the bench. "I missed you on Stoeven Avenue."_

_"Because I wasn't on Stoeven Avenue," Wylan says, gathering his music into his satchel. "It's too crowded right now. A couple of vendors are selling a bunch of new spices; you can hardly take a step without getting trampled."_

_"And yet, here I am," Kaz points out. It was raining earlier in the day, but now the clouds have cleared and the sun shines bright against a pale blue sky. A lone boat drifts down the canal with a single stern pushing it lazily along._

_With so few people on the street and a day that's defied Ketterdam's usual grayness, Kaz almost feels a sense of peace settle into his bones. Wylan's hair glimmers in the watery sunlight, his skin pale and soft with freckles. He's fourteen, but he looks like he stopped aging at twelve._

_Wylan is a year younger than Kaz and twice as privileged, but Kaz doesn't mind hanging out with him. He's a nice break from Kaz's handful of school friends: quieter and remarkably sincere for the son of a councilman. Besides, unlike most people he's met, Wylan doesn't have to yell to prove he's smart._

_Wylan stands up from the bench and gives a huff. "Well yeah, but you're basically a ghost," he says, slinging his satchel over his shoulder and beginning to match Kaz's stride. "You don't count."_

_"I'm going to take that as a compliment," Kaz decides with a small smirk. "Ghosts get more stuff done."_

_"What? How?" Wylan glances over at Kaz._

_"No one knows that they're there," Kaz says simply. "They've rearranged half the room by the time anyone's noticed."_

_Wylan scoffs. Kaz only shrugs._

_"If that was that case, then I'd have made the Van Ecks another fortune by now," Wylan says after a minute._

_"Really? Because it seems like those tutors are paying you extra special attention," Kaz replies with a pointed glance at the bag thick with papers at Wylan's hip._

_Wylan glances down at the ornately made bag. It's rich brown and trimmed with gold, with the Van Eck crest forming a button: a clear sign of his wealth. "Oh, this is just for me," he says off-hand. "Mostly journals and music sheets."_

_"Always the first things to bring when one's on a walk." Kaz always has a hint of sarcasm in his voice, so sometimes it can be hard to tell the difference. However, this time he actually means to be sarcastic._

_Wylan shrugs. "What? Sometimes you're just walking, and you find a bench and you want to work for a while. You can't tell me you don't like to work outside."_

_"I don't like to work outside," Kaz says easily. Walks like these are nice, but Kaz prefers to keep a firm line between work and leisure. This was hardly even leisure anyways—he had to get home somehow. If he chooses to walk with Wylan, then that's just a small perk._

_"Well, I do," Wylan insists. "I'm not a fan of my tutors, but at least my schedule is flexible. When you and Jordie get enough money, you should maybe look into one."_

_"Wylan, I'm not dropping out of school just to get myself another teacher," Kaz says._

_At that, Wylan's attention snaps up to Kaz. "What? You didn't tell me you were dropping out."_

_"I just did."_

_A few moments pass where Wylan is silent. Kaz knows he can't be surprised. Wylan has been with him some days when he's decided to skip class, and he's made it no secret that he already knows what they're teaching him. Frankly, he should be surprised that Kaz wasn't revving to drop out any sooner._

_After a while, Wylan looks back up at Kaz. "I'm going to start seeing you at all those mercher events, aren't I?"_

_Kaz gives a small, low smile. "Give or take a couple of years."_

* * *

Kaz adjusts his necktie in the mirror. Sometimes, when he needs to be fancy, he chooses one with a little dark pattern. But today is all business, and business means solid black.

"Hey, I thought you said you were ready," Jordie says, poking his head through the open doorway. Kaz glances back at him. He's dressed in the traditional mercher black, but his tie is crisscrossed with dark purple swirls. Kaz supposes one of them has to be the flashy one.

"Funny, I remember telling you the same thing about an hour ago," Kaz replies, pulling up his tie so that the end sits just a bit higher.

Jordie rolls his eyes. "Hey, not the point," he says, walking in and giving Kaz a playful slap on the back of the head.

Kaz only shrugs. Once he's satisfied with his tie, he turns around to face Jordie. "Since when are you so worried about being punctual?"

"Since you just spent the last hour riding my ass about getting there in a timely manner," Jordie says with a snort. "I didn't put all this effort into being on time for once for you to toss it down the drain with your tie game."

"Hey, at least my tie will look nice," Kaz says, strolling towards the door and placing on his hat before tossing Jordie his own. "People are always more willing to buy from a man with a nice tie."

"Of course. Why do you think I picked out this one?" Jordie gestures to his embellished tie as they walk out the door and onto the breezy Ketterdam streets. Kaz only scoffs.

The walk to the Exchange is a short one. Kaz and Jordie talk all the way, trading greetings with the equals they pass as needed. The Financial District is very wealthy, yet not-so surprisingly closed off. Most of the people they even bother waving to are the ones they saw at the gala last week. A lot of the other people are ones trying to get into that inner circle.

Before long, the walls of the Exchange loom before them. Tall and ornate arches upon arches surround a grand courtyard, topped with a triangular roof that circles the top and a huge clock overlooking it all.

Kaz would almost consider the Exchange his second home. Every moment spent building up his and Jordie's wealth, every handshake and finesse that led him to today was done among these stone arches.

He's not a very nostalgic person. But Kaz will admit that the Exchange brings him some intrinsic amount of joy.

Stepping under the archway, the shade of the courtyard walls envelope Kaz with another wave of coolness. There has never been a warm autumn in Ketterdam during his lifetime (the summers are barely lukewarm), and the shade of the arches don't exactly help, but Kaz doesn't mind. He finds the chill refreshing—it keeps him sharp.

He holds onto that sharpness as Jordie strikes up a conversation with a lanky redhead wearing a suit that doesn't fit quite right. Kaz doesn't know much about him, but then again, neither does anyone else: he's a man somewhere in his mid-thirties recently come from the Wandering Isle.

Rumor has it that he just inherited a large sum of money and came to Kerch to expand his wealth. Kaz thinks that his name was Mr. Neilan or something along those lines.

He listens as Jordie introduces himself and Kaz, to which Kaz only gives a brief nod. He prefers to stay silent and first and gauge what's going to happen, and he finds that's much easier when he simply doesn't speak at first.

He listens as Mr. Neilan explains that he deals mostly in corn, butter, and other products imported from his farms and factories back in the Wandering Isle. Kaz listens for as long as he needs to, and when he's ready he clears his throat.

Jordie glances over at Kaz, and Kaz quickly scratches at his earlobe: an unspoken signal.

Jordie turns back to Mr. Neilan, the same dazzling grin that's charmed so many before him plastered on his face. He goes back and forth with him a bit longer so as not to seem suspicious, but eventually, he sighs.

"Well, Mr. Neilan, it's been very nice," Jordie says. "But I just don't think that your services are for my associate and I. However, we do wish you luck on your next business venture!" With that, Jordie turns away, taking Kaz with him.

"Alright, what was the deal with that one," he asks once Mr. Neilan is out of earshot.

"He's too new to the market," Kaz says simply. "He doesn't know what he's doing. He's too eager to find better ways to make more money."

"Kind of seems like that would be a good thing," Jordie says with a shrug.

"It's not when you have no experience with the market at all. All those plans he was telling you about are too much for where he is now. He's not going to last long if he keeps this up."

Jordie shrugs again but doesn't argue. Kaz knows his brother trusts his judgment. It's that same judgment that's gotten them where they are today, able to walk among merches and pick and choose what makes their money. Kaz likes to think his judgment is fairly sound.

He and Jordie step out of the archway into the sunlit courtyard, paved with stone and teeming with merches. Each one is a business opportunity; a way for Kaz and Jordie to grow their wealth just a little bit more.

Kaz hasn't been working long at all when he feels a hand grab at his shoulder. He turns around, momentarily leaving Jordie with a pudgy man with salt-and-pepper hair and a lot of big shares in the spice industry.

He's not too worried about him, so he doesn't feel the need to immediately go back when he's met with cold blue eyes and a blonde receding hairline.

"Van Eck," Kaz says simply, all warmth gone from his voice. Granted, there wasn't much to begin with, but the point is made.

"Rietveld," Van Eck says with a nod. "Seems you're doing quite well for yourself." He glances behind Kaz at Jordie talking up the spice man.

Kaz stands cordially with his hands behind his back. "You know how it is. You make one deal, that leads to another, and the rest just falls into place."

Van Eck scoffs. "You're very young to know what you're doing."

Kaz narrows his eyes. "Believe me, the younger of us can learn _very_ quickly."

There's a pause for a brief moment, and Van Eck's eyebrows draw a little closer together under Kaz's gaze.

Kaz is familiar with Van Eck, and he isn't a fan. Every time he looks at his down-turned mustache or eyes like chips of ice, Kaz feels something twist in his stomach. However, he's not one to let opinions get in the way of business.

Personal feelings aside, Jan Van Eck is a member of the Merchant Council. Whatever business handled with him is likely to be important.

Still, Kaz finds it somewhat ironic that he can catch out of the corner of his eye the bench where he and Wylan first met.

"So. What business can I interest you in?" Kaz would much rather skip the small talk and cut to the chase.

"My _business_ is that I'm interested in seeing how the Rietveld brothers are doing. I like to check-in on the shareholders in the city, and you've made something of a name for yourself around here," Van Eck says.

"If you wanted to check-in, you could have easily attended the gala last week. I have a hard time believing you weren't invited, and the Exchange isn't exactly meant to be used as a social hour." Kaz tries, but he thinks that the animosity in his voice still manages to leak through.

Van Eck clears his throat. "The Merchant Council is very demanding. Sometimes you have to let the small things slide."

"Is there a reason you've really come to see me, Van Eck? Because if not, I have matters to attend to elsewhere," Kaz says, already glancing back at Jordie.

Van Eck sighs. "Believe it or not, Rietveld, I'm actually somewhat impressed by you. You're very smart for your age, and I can see you with a bigger future in the world of merches someday."

"Hm. So, is there a deal you want to strike with me," Kaz says simply. Somewhere deep down inside him, he knows he should feel a rush of satisfaction in knowing that he made a member of the Merchant Council sit up and take notice. However, he's never been one to fawn over authority. And anyway, the knowledge that it's Van Eck sullies his victory.

"Someday, in the future perhaps. But not today." Kaz finds Van Eck's gaze wandering back to Jordie.

Kaz cocks an eyebrow. "So what happens today?"

"Today I give you a bit of...shall we say, _input_ _._ "

Kaz stifles a scoff at the way Van Eck says _input,_ as though his advice may as well be worth gold. "Fine. I'll bite," he says after a moment.

"The market is a dangerous place, believe it or not," Van Eck says. "It requires you to make smart choices and do what's best for yourself. Sometimes you have to, say...cut off loose ends and deadweight. Things that hold you back."

"Things that every mercher knows," Kaz says dismissively.

"And things that you should reacquaint yourself with," Van Eck replies. "You're a good mercher as you stand now. And good merchers shouldn't have to babysit their partners."

Kaz would be hard-pressed to miss Van Eck's glance towards Jordie. He immediately has to fight off the bile in his throat. "Van Eck, I think we're done here," he says, already beginning to walk away.

"I think it would be best to heed me, Rietveld," Van Eck says with a shrug. "Things have been turning at the Stadhall. It would be best to watch where you tread."

Kaz pauses. He turns his head towards Van Eck only slightly, his back still turned. "Is that a threat?"

"Consider it a warning." With that, Van Eck turns around and disappears into the crowd.

* * *

The letter comes next week.

_Addressed to Jordan Rietveld and Kaz Rietveld._

_We at the Merchant Council of Kerch regret to inform you that, due to suspicious behaviors under your name, your shares in the free market of Kerch trade have been temporarily halted._

_Due to the record files, we have reason to believe there is misinformation being spread about your shares and the money involved by your persons, and thus your shares will be suspended while an investigation takes place._

_During this period, your shares will be suspended from the market and any interaction with, including gaining interest and being sold to a third party. Any interaction with the market through a third party or tampering with current files will be subject to stadwatch custody and possible arrest._

_Any further questions regarding your suspension can be answered at the Stadhall, located in the Government District. Thank you for your cooperation._

_Signed, the Merchant Council of Kerch._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty nervous to drop this chapter, but if you don't mind, I would really like it if you dropped a comment!
> 
> Also, I based the Exchange on the 17th century Amsterdam Stock Exchange (just letting you guys know since the Exchange was never featured in the book, so I did the best I could-)
> 
> (Plus some of the comments are touching on a pre-edited version of the chapter you're seeing, so sorry if they don't match up with the story!)


	3. Tear Me to Shreds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Look, I didn't mean to hurt anyone. I was trying to protect you. To protect _us."_
> 
> "I don't _need_ to be protected."
> 
> —
> 
> One push, and disaster sets into motion like dominoes.

_"Glenn Gould" by Valeriya Lakrisenko, Date Unknown _

* * *

It's late when Jordie finally rolls through the door.

Usually, Kaz doesn't mind waiting. He has his routine, and Jordie has his. When the nights stretch on and they don't have plans for the morning, both of them take to their own plans. Most of the time, Jordie goes out, and sometimes Kaz goes with him.

But on the night the letter comes, Kaz is waiting on the parlor couch with a letter in his pocket and a glass of red wine in his hand. He watches as Jordie halfway-stumbles inside with a smile under his stubble of a beard and clothes that are a bit messier than they were when they left.

"Makker's wheel, I assume," Kaz says after Jordie is finished yelling good-byes at whoever's on the street and hanging his vest on their coat rack.

At the sound of Kaz's voice, Jordie jumps. _"Ghezen,_ Kaz," he exclaims, seeing who it is and rolling his eyes. "What are you, a _cat?_ You can't just go _lurking in the parlor._ "

"At least I'm not screaming into the street at ungodly hours," Kaz says. "Even a cat knows how to be quiet."

Jordie scoffs. "Well, I had a _great_ time, thanks for asking. Came out about six-hundred kruge richer."

Kaz doesn't care for gambling, and he doesn't like the idea of Jordie doing it with their money. However, they both agreed a long time ago that Jordie would have a separate stash of money that he could do with as he pleased. Kaz finds it's much easier to work with Jordie's habits than against them.

"I didn't ask," Kaz says, taking a sip of his wine. "I told you I don't care to hear all the creative ways you can gamble away your money."

"I still think you should give it another shot," Jordie insists, crossing to the dining room door on the other side of the entryway. "You know, it's a lot like investing."

"If investing is like gambling, you're investing wrong," Kaz retorts coolly.

A couple of beats later, Jordie comes out of the dining room with a wine glass and a bottle of their red wine. "Alright, what is it?" He throws himself onto the velvet couch opposite to Kaz and starts pouring the wine into his glass. "You're more insufferable than usual when you're mad."

Jordie chuckles at his own quip, but Kaz remains stone-faced. He isn't exactly in a laughing mood.

* * *

_The lights are dim in the filing room. Kaz doesn't like to keep any of the house's lights too bright—he finds it's much more relaxing when there's not a sea of candles blaring in his face._

_Besides, keeping too much fire in a room filled to the brim with sheets of paper is beyond the realm of good ideas. The last thing Kaz needs is for any of these to burn, destroying the evidence just at his fingertips._

_Normally, these kinds of notices wouldn't worry Kaz too much. All it takes is a miscalculation or an error in records to be suspect to an investigation from the Merchant Council. A letter of correction to the Stadhall is usually enough to get things cleared up._

_Letters of misinformation were common enough to hardly be an issue, but then again, they usually didn't come after warnings from Council members._

_Kaz hates the idea of Van Eck being able to under his skin, but like it or not, Van Eck is a member of the Merchant Council. He dines with the people who run the city and has more money than entire neighborhoods. Whatever goes on behind the highest doors in Ketterdam, Van Eck is bound to have a toe in it. When he speaks, it's best to listen._

_And as much as he would like to believe otherwise, Kaz knows that the letter at their door was too much too soon to be a coincidence._

_The sound of Kaz's fingers flipping through the files is the only sound in the silent room. Jordie had long since gone out to do Ghezen-knows-what in the more pleasurable parts of the city, and they didn't have the money yet to afford live-in servants._

_The solitude of the house should be comforting, but Kaz finds his shoulders draw tight as he searches. All he's looking for is a copy of the file in question to supposedly prove his and Jordie's innocence._

_But he knows that that isn't the case. Something is wrong here, and as his fingers finally brush up against the file in question, he knows that the answer is somewhere inside. Something has been going on right under Kaz's nose, and he doesn't exactly appreciate being out of the loop._

_Taking the file to his desk, Kaz opens it up and begins sifting through the reports. It's all balance sheets from about two months prior, rattling off their shares and outflows in liabilities for anyone to look at. Kaz doesn't remember working on this report, so he figures Jordie or one of their accountants already had it filed before he had the chance._

_Continuing to flip through the sheets, Kaz finds that at first glance, everything seems fine. The balance sheets are filled with records of all their sales over the given month, from gains in shares to purchases from third-parties._

_It doesn't take Kaz long to notice a tangle of a_ lot _of third parties. It's closer to the end of the sheet, so he didn't notice it at first, but over a period of weeks, there seems to be a net of sales and purchases to an abundance of people that Kaz wasn't aware of._

_The fact that he didn't know was enough to send an itch to his brow, but that wasn't what made his breath hitch in his throat. An excessive, nearly unnecessary amount of activity littered the page for what seemed to be weeks, creating a web of data that was near impossible to navigate._

_Most of the transactions didn't even seem to be logical—it was all filled with deals and agreements that added hardly any value and were barely tangible. Kaz doesn't see why anyone would even go to all that trouble._

_Unless, of course, they were trying to hide something underneath the tangled mess._

_The next few hours are spent sifting through report after report. Kaz arches over his desk, making sure the candles stay lit and analyzing the numbers before him as his tension grows._

_Turns out, there's a lot of red flags popping up all over the reports—far more than Kaz anticipated. They're found in the form of inconsistencies in records, in revenue growth without growth in cash flows, in ticks here and there and all over the place that raises more than a few eyebrows._

_Kaz knows if he took a little more time to investigate, then he would find a lot more proof. But the base to everything he needs to find is right here. Sitting before him, clasped between his two hands and right before his eyes, is his ruination._

_Because as it turns out, Jordie has been a lot busier than Kaz initially thought. Somewhere along the line, his trading got reckless. A mistake was made, and the efforts to cover it up were glaringly obvious._

_He's altered their financial statements, manipulated their information, and done everything he can to make it looks like they're in a better state than they actually are._

_Another, more simple term for it would be "fraud."_

* * *

Kaz purses his lips and leans closer to Jordie. "Jordie, how much did you drink?"

Jordie shrugs. "Not much."

"Define _not much."_

"Ghezen, I don't know...I only had about two shots." He chuckles, taking a sip of his wine. "Since when were you so interested in my drinking habits?"

Kaz feels annoyance nip at him, but a concealed breath through his nose shoves it back down. Jordie's humor can be refreshing at times, but now is not one of those times.

"Since I wanted to know if you were sober enough to look at this and tell me what it means." Digging into his pocket, Kaz pulls out the letter, folded twice into a neat square.

Jordie arches a brow in curiosity. "Hm? What's this," he asks, reaching over to take the letter.

"Notice from the Merchant Council." Kaz places his wine glass on the coffee table. "Seems all our shares have been suspended."

"What? That can't be right." Jordie glances up at Kaz, brows knitted together. Then, he hastily unfolds the letter, eyes scanning it once, then again and again. "...When did you get this?"

"Earlier this evening. It came by while you were out." Kaz pauses, letting his eyes narrow slightly. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, by any chance?"

There's a pang of silence. Jordie glances at the letter, then at Kaz, and back again. He clears his throat. "Well, I _do now_. They said it's just misinformation, didn't they?"

"It seems that way."

"Then it's just a bad calculation. A letter of correction should fix it up pretty easily." Jordie places the letter down on the couch beside him. He then reaches for his wine glass, taking a long drink. "What, is this what you're mad about?"

The silence stretches on. Kaz watches Jordie for a long minute, studying him with a critical eye. His brother has always been a good liar, but this is big, even for him. Kaz makes a careful note of the way Jordie glances at Kaz, then darts his gaze back to his wine glass.

"...Yes." Kaz eases back into the couch and drapes his arm over the chair arm. "Yes, I suppose it is."

An uneasy lull passes between them. Jordie is silent, then places his wine glass down and scoffs. "Then it's nothing to worry about. You sure you don't want a little more wine? Because you've been pretty stressed lately."

Now it's Kaz's turn to scoff. "Jordie if you think I've been stressed, believe me, you're not exactly on the helping end of things." He leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees and pressing his fingertips together.

"Because it's one thing to be one of the youngest merches in the city. I don't think there's one person I've ever met at the Exchange who hasn't given me a side-eye, but that's never bothered me. It doesn't even bother me that we've had to fight tooth and nail for everything that we have because that's just how it is around here."

"But I will say, it does make me fray a bit at the ends when I start getting attacked from the inside as well." Kaz rubs his eyes with his thumb and his index finger. He's tired, and his head hurts more than it should.

"I don't know if you were being reckless or stupid, but I can tell you that the only reason you are not sitting in a cell at this instant is that the council hasn't officially begun their investigation."

"But the moment they go to look at our files or the second you do something that might even cause them to _suspect_ your guilt, it will be the end of everything we have worked to build."

Kaz's words hang in the air. The tension is so thick you can slice it like butter, and in the midst of it, Jordie sits there, staring at Kaz. For once, he seems to be at a loss for words.

Kaz looks at Jordie a moment longer, then huffs. He's halfway to the door, jacket in hand when Jordie finally stands up from the couch.

"Kaz, _wait."_ It's not a command, more of a request. It's not much—not even enough to make Kaz look back at Jordie. But it's enough to make him pause with his hand against the brass knob, eyes focused on his fist on the door.

"Look, I didn't mean to hurt anyone. I was trying to protect you. To protect _us."_

 _I don't want to be protected. I don't_ need _to be protected. I didn't ask to be protected. What makes you think I would need your protection?_ The thoughts rush through Kaz's head in a tidal wave, but he manages to hold his tongue.

"I...I made a bad deal, alright? I mean, _Ghezen_ , there were a couple of bad deals before that, but this one..." Jordie shakes his head, and Kaz catches a glimpse of a smile on his face—the kind he only gives when he's trying to work himself out of a corner.

"I did some business with some shady people, alright? I thought I was getting the jump on a new market, and I thought _this will either make us rich beyond what we ever imagined, or it could potentially destroy us."_

Kaz feels something flare in his chest. "And you thought that was a good bet to make?" He tries to keep his voice low, but even he can feel the rage simmering beneath the surface.

"Kaz, I thought I was making a good decision. I mean, I wasn't the only one who invested in these people. They got a bunch of people to invest in them, and then they just...disappeared. The share value dropped, and..."

Kaz glares at the doorknob. "So you let yourself scammed."

A pause. Again, Jordie opens his mouth as though he wants to say something, but can't find the words. Kaz waits, then exhales sharply through his nose.

"Reckless or stupid," he repeats, giving a small scoff and shaking his head. "Seems you found it easy enough to do both."

 _"Kaz—"_ Jordie pleads, but Kaz is out the door and on the street in an instant.

* * *

Kaz doesn't smoke often. He owns a pipe that he hardly ever uses, and on the rare occasion, he'll accept a small cigar at a meeting. He doesn't do it as much as some people, but every now and again, he'll revel in the feel of warm smoke entering his lungs and the calming sensation of seeing ashen death billow out before him.

He itches for a cigar now. Anything to calm him down would be welcome, but the reasonable part of his brain—the part that controls him most of the time—keeps him from it. He doesn't need to be calm right now. He needs to think.

Kaz knows that would be near impossible if he stayed in the house. He doesn't think he can stand being near Jordie right now and his myriad of ways to explain the same mistake. He had to get away, and the night welcomed him like a silent, understanding friend.

Still, he knows one of the brothels on West Stave has a witch who can ease the ache in his bones right now. Perhaps that's how his wandering found him stepping out of a canal boat into where the night was anything but still.

He doesn't actually intend to go inside. But the idea of it sends some kind of calmness into his bones, even amid the headache and noisiness that comes with the Barrel. It's quieter on West Stave. Brothels and pleasure houses dominate the area, and it wouldn't look good for business if unsavories were dirtying up the street.

But even so, West Stave is still the Barrel. The ornate white house before him is still just a brothel, and no sickening amount of flower stench can change that.

Kaz looks at the House of the White Rose and keeps walking.

He doesn't come to the Barrel often. It's a bit garish for his taste, but he knows Jordie would never think to look for him here. His brother let him go because he knows that Kaz needs time to think, but at some point, he'll come looking.

Only thing is, Kaz doesn't want to be found. If he looks at Jordie right now there's a good chance he'll break his jaw. Kaz figures this is best for both of them.

The streetlights draw long charcoal shadows on the cobblestone. Kaz's shadow shrinks and grows as he walks down the street, sounds of the Barrel streaming in the distance.

Even at this time of night, Kaz finds that the lights shine dimly in most of the brothels. He supposes closing them at night would ruin their supposed "mysterious charm."

He wishes he could say that he only just noticed the Menagerie when it came upon him, but the truth was that it was sitting in the back of his mind. He had never found any interest in the House of Exotics before, but now it finally seemed to have something that interested him.

Normally Kaz wouldn't be caught dead this far down the city, but he tells himself he's going to turn around as soon as he passes the Menagerie. But before then, he allows himself a glimpse into the deceptively warm windows, peering at the parlor before him.

She sits at a small table with a steaming cup clasped in her hands. The purple and gold silk of her lynx costume still wraps around her shoulders and hips just like when they met, curving and exposing in a way designed to allure.

At first, Kaz isn't sure that it's her. The girl's face is obscured with a matching lynx mask, which when combined with her small stature, makes her seem even more cat-like. But then she glances up an instant later, and Kaz sees her universe eyes glint with recognition.

Their gazes meet, and for a moment, Kaz isn't sure what to do. He didn't actually expect her to be there, especially not at this hour. After a bit of hesitation, Kaz gives a brief nod. Inej raises her hand in a small, soft wave. Her bronze skin glows honey-gold in the candlelight.

And just like that, Kaz is back in the hallway in the merchant manor. He's gone far enough to escape the turmoil of the world and has found a place far enough from everything to be cloaked in secrecy and dim lights.

Seeing Inej is like crossing a threshold between his world and a new secret, private world. He's not even sure she exists. She dresses in dangerous silks yet speaks with the wisdom of old ages, like an angel trapped among men for too long. Kaz wonders if she'll disappear if he blinks too long.

With her universe eyes and speech of old souls, she is something of a curiosity to Kaz. A puzzle to work on when he needs to calm himself.

Kaz pauses. Then, he glances around the window: the only other person in there is a young girl with dark hair and a sharp snake mask. But she could have been an old man or a Zemeni fawn or anyone else in the city as long it wasn't Tante Heleen.

Kaz finds it hard to believe that most brothel owners in Ketterdam, let alone Tante Heleen, would let him in just to talk to the girls without pressuring him to "make a purchase." Besides, it might seem suspicious if he focused on just one girl.

Kaz creaks open the door a small bit, then reaches up and pinches the bell in place before it falls so that it doesn't leave a jingle. He's never been inside the Menagerie before, but he finds it's filled with the near-choking scent of perfume.

The young Shu girl lounging on the opposite side of the room gives Kaz a coy smile as he walks in. Kaz only glances over and brushes it off—it would be foolish to mistake work for genuine affection around here.

"Strange to see you're still awake." There's a free chair at the tiny parlor table, but Kaz doesn't sit down. He doesn't intend to stay for too long.

Inej watches Kaz with a look that he can't quite place—confusion? Caution? Interest? With the lynx hiding her face, her thoughts are much harder to decipher. Of course, it wasn't exactly easy the last time they met.

"I'm assuming they don't say _hello_ in the Financial District." Inej raises her steaming cup to her lips and looks out at Kaz over the rim.

"I'm also assuming it's common practice for most people to sleep before twelve bells."

"Present company excluded, it seems."

Kaz might have given a small smile if his mood hadn't been soured.

Inej however only places her cup down on the table. Kaz sees her eyes grow sharp through her mask. "I'll have you know that just because we had a chat doesn't mean I'm interested in being courted."

"What makes you think I'm courting you?"

"I can hardly think of other reasons you would come down to the Menagerie to talk to me."

Kaz gives a small scoff. "I didn't come down here solely to _talk to you._ I was out for a walk."

"On the other side of the city? In the middle of the night?"

"Call our meeting an intriguing coincidence."

Inej still looks skeptical, but her gaze softens. "Well then I suppose you wouldn't mind telling me why you're out so late," she says after a moment.

Kaz pauses, considering how to phrase his answer. He would prefer to keep his present situation as quiet as possible. "Let's just say...I've run into a bit of trouble I'd like to think over."

"What kind of trouble?" Inej glances up over her teacup.

"The kind that forces you to look a bit closer at people, even the ones you trust." Kaz knows he's probably being a bit hard on Jordie, but he doesn't care.

"You seem like you would be careful with your trust," Inej speculates.

"I am. You should too; it's not wise to trust people around here."

"I like to think there are still a few good people out there." Inej drags her finger around the rim of her cup, slender and graceful.

"Well Inej, that would be a naive assumption. I'm afraid the only people around here are those that can give, and those that take. And truthfully, there are more takers than givers."

"Which have you done more of, then? Taking or giving?"

"Depends on who you ask."

And it's right then, in the dead of night and talking to the girl who only exists in the secret corners of the world, that Kaz Brekker starts to form a plan. It's nothing big—it's hardly even reliable, but it lets him start to get the gears in his brain turning.

"Let me ask you Inej: you get a lot of different types of men in here, do you not?"

Inej regards Kaz with a strange look. "I suppose so. We mostly get rich men in here."

"And these men talk, perhaps even brag a lot about their money or status or wealth?"

Inej narrows her eyes. "Is there something you're playing at?"

"I'm playing at the possibility of you being able to reap a handsome reward if you're able to give me any information on men who recently came into a considerable amount of wealth within the last month or so."

Inej gazes at Kaz for a while, and Kaz can only imagine the things that go on in her head. Then, she finally reaches up and slips off her mask. Her brow is furrowed together, and the way she looks at Kaz makes him feel like she can gaze into his soul and pick out whatever parts of him she likes.

"Kaz, money isn't going to do me much good." She isn't lying, but Kaz can hear something under her voice: hope, small and faint as an injured dove.

"Money does everyone good. I'm sure there's an indenture you've been wanting to pay off."

"I've been making money for years, and I'm farther away from paying off my indenture than when I started. Tante Heleen isn't going to let me pay it off easily, no matter how much money I come into."

"Then I'll store it for you. Whatever information you glean, I'll keep it in one of my safes that you can remove from whenever you choose. Completely untouched."

Kaz can tell that gets her attention. He can see the glimmer of hope in her eyes, there and trying desperately to fly. And while he may not have the money he needed for her right now, if she got the information, then he would certainly be able to pay her as much as she needed.

She has questions, and Kaz answers them. What his situation was because she wanted to be sure that she was doing something right. How much money he was talking about paying her—not enough to pay off her indenture, but certainly enough to make a large dent, maybe even halfway if she's wise.

She asks if Kaz can provide some money for the other girls if they help, to which he says that he'll be giving Inej the money—what she does with that money or who she gives it to would be up to her.

He tells her that the offer will only stand if Tante Heleen doesn't find out—he knows that brothel owner would be less-than-pleased if she found out that Kaz was paying off her girls.

And finally, Inej has a single question left.

"How do I know that I can trust you?" She clasps her hands together on the table, looking Kaz dead in the eye.

"I give you my word, Inej." And he means it too. His word isn't something that he tosses around lightly.

Inej looks at Kaz and gives him a single, brief nod. She doesn't explicitly agree. For all Kaz knows, she could laugh when the door shuts and forget about his offer the next morning. He explained his situation as much as he would allow himself to: she knows that there is a small chance he could come up a little short on the money.

But it's a good thing Kaz doesn't keep all his eggs in one basket. As soon as he leaves, Kaz heads a couple of yards down and goes into the Anvil. He goes to the White Rose and the Sweet Shop and every other brothel on West Stave.

And once he's done, he makes plans to head down to the casinos in the morning and talk to merches in the Financial District and go everywhere he can possibly think of.

Because somewhere in this city, someone is running around with his money. And while Kaz may not have the necessary amount of bribing money for enough people, he has other things: power. Status. Intimidation. And, most importantly, connections.

He's going to get back his money, even if he has to travel the entire city and smoke out every building in sight to find it.

* * *

The next day, Kaz finds a note scrawled in small, neat letters. On it, there are three names, three leads. And at the end, there's a signature that brings a strange amount of satisfaction to his chest.

_I asked around a bit.  
—Inej._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this instead of doing schoolwork hrk—
> 
> But really, if you enjoyed this, I hope you wouldn't mind dropping a kudos and comments! They really make my day!
> 
> (Also I know it was only mentioned briefly don't actually smoke cigarettes please and thanks!)


	4. Angel, Devil, Advocate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don't think there's ever been a day in your life that you've taken the time to pray.”
> 
> "Oh I did. A while ago. Back when I still believed there was something up there kind enough to care about the happenings of a few sinful, dirt-bound bugs. Which, mind you, hasn't been for a very long time."
> 
> —
> 
> Every scar is a healed scar until the knife comes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No wait I'm capable of updating I swear-
> 
> (Also this chapter is a bit longer since it gets kinda plot-heavy and foreshadow-y; just a heads-up!)

_ "Self Portrait" by Émile Friant, 1885 _

* * *

The inner walls of the Exchange swell with ants.

Or at least, that's what Jordie calls the employees when he's mad: ants. He got into the habit back when he was working at the Exchange and never completely grew out of it.

_"I mean really. A misplaced form," Jordie had fumed from their old house in the Zelver District. He was sixteen going on seventeen and well-over fed up with the nearly two years he had spent as a clerk._

_"Ghezen, if I got all bent out of shape every time I saw a file that wasn't where it needed to be I would have thrown my back out in nine different places by now.”_

_But the second it happens to a merchant with a couple of extra kruge in his pocket, everyone bends over backward and suddenly it's my ass on the line. It's ridiculous," Jordie scoffed and took a drag on a small cigar. "Don't you think so, Kaz?"_

_"Mhm," Kaz mumbled, leaning back in the armchair and barely glancing up from his book. He couldn't recall a time when Jordie didn't manage to find some kind of trouble with authority. At some point, it all faded into background noise._

_Jordie sighed and blew out a stream of smoke. Even at thirteen, Kaz knew that his brother was like a pump. When he was mad or excited like this, he went looking for a fight or debate just to keep himself busy._

_It would be fine and all if Kaz actually felt like debating. But usually, he found that if he ignored him, Jordie would either die down or burn himself out. Whichever came first._

_"I swear, they're all like a bunch of ants," Jordie had continued, tapping his cigar into an ashtray. "Always scurrying around with tunnel vision so bad they think whatever a higher-up tells them to do is the end-all. It's grating."_

_"I bet it is," Kaz had muttered, simply turning the page._

But even though he scarcely paid attention during those ramblings, the idea of ants running around the Exchange has always stuck with Kaz. He can't help thinking about it as he glances back from the stairs in the corner.

The morning is so fresh that white clings to the sky like marrow to bone. A chilly dawn breeze made no better by autumn sweeps through the cobblestone and pillars, but from the way the merchants move about the Exchange, you would think they didn't notice at all.

All around the courtyard, men scurry and teem and rush in such a hustled frenzy that even the busiest of Ketterdam streets would sit up and take notes. One rushes files here, another yells from a banister over there, but they all flow and breath with the same current of false self-importance.

It's all mind-numbingly chaotic, and Kaz would be remiss if he didn't remember all the times Jordie made fun of them, but he's not in much of a place to judge right now. The Exchange is where he made his fortune, and for now, it's where he intends to make it back.

With a quick last glance, Kaz turns and ascends the stairs.

Legally, he shouldn't even be here right now. The suspension of his and Jordie's stocks bans them from the Exchange until the council can review their file, which should be in about a week or so.

Kaz isn't planning to wait a week or so.

He doesn't have as much experience in disguises as he would like, but a sleepless night gave him plenty of time to put together something adequate. One brown sweater vest, high collared jacket, and pair of fake glasses later, Kaz could easily pass for any other hapless Exchange runner.

He’s managed to avoid the Merchant Council thus far, but if Kaz is found in breach of his ban, his and Jordie’s fast track to trouble will heighten tenfold. And hiding might take some painfully restyled hair and a hat with a brim wide enough to hide his face in a glance over, but it's worth it. When he keeps silent and keeps to the walls, no one spares him a second look.

He supposes being the quiet one has its perks. Most of the people here see him as one-half of the Rietveld brothers, and he’s not even the face of their duo. With a little effort to hide his face and stay on the sides, Kaz is just one more ant lost in the hustle.

The yelling and restlessness of merchants fade as Kaz climbs higher, passing through the second floor reserved for clerks and office space like he's just another runner trying to get where he needs to go. But with its long halls and dark walls, Kaz has lost count of the number of hours he's spent up here, eavesdropping on debates and gazing through windows.

Thinking about how he used to beg Jordie to bring him to work with him always makes Kaz's ears heat up, but during that time he did learn a thing or two.

A glance behind him to make sure he's alone in the hall, and Kaz pulls a key from his pocket. It's small and simple, rusted slightly with age, but as Kaz slides it into the locked door at the end of the hall, it twists like a dream.

_"A secret passage," Kaz whispered, trying and failing to keep the awe out of his voice._

_His curiosity for the mysterious and unknown was sometimes satiated by reading mystery novels and unlocking the tricks of street magicians. But at nine years old and curious as a cat, the prospect of a hidden passageway right under his nose was almost too much to bear._

_Jordie glanced back, and the mischief glittering in his eyes alone would have been enough to get him in trouble. Later on, several of Jordie's bosses would learn to look at him and do just that. But for now, Jordie was nothing more than the new runner. He had plenty of time to teach the Exchange the meaning of trouble, and how to slip out of it just right._

_"Kaz, do you know how old this building is?" Jordie glanced the hall around to make sure no one was listening, then leaned in close with a sly grin. " There are secret routes all over the place. You just have to know where to look."_

_The anticipation in Kaz's veins pulsed with every punch of his heart. He was an expert at sneaking around, but doing it with Jordie felt less like hiding and more like an adventure._

_Jordie was just a runner, so none of the merchants in the hall spared him a glance. By the time they reached the end of the hall and Jordie was twisting his copy of a key into the lock, everyone's attention was anywhere but with them._

_"Up here," Jordie instructed, slipping into the office and closing the door behind him before climbing up on the desk. The whole place looked just like an office, but Kaz was smart enough to know that a secret never looked like a secret._

_Still, he couldn't help his eyes widening when Jordie gave a push at the ceiling and one of the panels shifted under his palms._

_"Woah," Kaz muttered, watching as Jordie shoved it out of the way and revealed a gaping hole in the ceiling. It was clearly less purposeful and more a bit of structural neglect, but Kaz didn't mind. An accidental passage was a passage nonetheless._

_"Well," Jordie asked with a wicked grin. "Are you coming?"_

There are so many ways his plan could have gone sideways: he might not have been able to find Jordie’s old key, the office could be occupied, they could have fixed the old ceiling panel. But apparently, whatever gods are up there seem to favor the easy way.

The third floor of the Exchange has a simple purpose: filing and documents. And because more merchants would love to have a peek at their competitors' financial state, it’s kept under firm guard twenty-four-seven.

But as Kaz has learned, there's always another way. 

The dark corners and dusty windows welcome Kaz like an old friend, reminding him of hours spent up here reading and studying. But now, Kaz only stands and brushes off his jacket. Climbing through ceilings is a bit rugged for his taste, but when is said and done, he can wash his hands of any dirt that might have been able to gather.

For now, he runs through the names in his head. He’s spent so much time staring at them that he can practically see Inej’s tiny script scrawled out before his eyes.

_Pietje Ahlbrinck._

_Emiel de Poel._

_Nelis Cornello._

Flitting around the filing room is like a dance, and thumbing through drawers and folders for those three names is an art. The second Kaz realized all the men Inej listed were merchants, he found that his task would be easier than expected. If all went well, he could be lounging in financial security in a few days’ time.

Quiet as a mouse, Kaz slips the folders into his satchel as he finds them, one by one. By the time he’s done, the bag bulges ever-so-slightly at the flap, but it bulges with the same feeling of satisfaction that weighs in his chest.

He’s only just stepped back out the door and turned a corner when he sees him.

For hours after, Kaz silently curses himself, and whatever breeze would listen for letting things turn out like that. Maybe if he had walked a bit slower, or turned down a different hall, or done anything differently at all, he could have saved himself a great deal of strife.

Somehow though, he knows it doesn't matter. Things would have turned out the same whether he stood in the Exchange all day or went home and boarded his doors. When Kaz turns the corner to see gaunt bones and sleek hair all wrapped with the warmth of winter waiting for him in mercher black, he knows that he's going to get a message one way or another.

"You know, at first I wasn't sure if it was you," Van Eck says.

He stands with his back to Kaz, face at the window and gazing out at the autumn morning. Gold and pink start to run down the sky like watercolors to a canvas. In the quiet, empty hallway, Kaz might even find it peaceful.

Of course, that’s in a world where Van Eck doesn’t stand with a hand on a pocket watch and an eye that glances towards Kaz now and then, looking with an interest that makes Kaz sick to his stomach.

"I mean, of course, it looked like you, even in that...ridiculous getup," Van Eck continues with a mutter and a bare glance towards Kaz and his disguise. Kaz only glances away and pops his jacket collar.

"But I looked at you, and I thought to myself, 'no he wouldn't do that. What is he, his brother? He's not stupid.'" A smile splits Van Eck's face as he shakes his head, a wide and white-toothed knife that twists in Kaz's gut. "And yet, here you are."

Kaz hesitates. Every tendon and joint that winds him together begs him to leave. It's a fight-or-flight response sewn into his DNA that tells him decking Van Eck in the jaw wouldn't be the best course of action.

But he doesn't fight, and he doesn't flee. In the hallway aglow with the fresh light of morning and the man Kaz has learned to be wary of, he stands with feet implanted into the floor and a stony gaze working hard not to betray the whirring of his mind in his skull.

He's been caught. That much is apparent. It wasn't in his plan, but Kaz wouldn't have gotten where he is today if he wasn't adaptable. He handles circumstances like he handles a deck of cards: with all the versatility and nimbleness of a practiced performer. And with a glance at his deal, Kaz already knows that he has the upper hand.

As much as he wants to do anything else, Kaz goes to stand at the two windows down from Van Eck with a bag full of stolen files in a place forbidden to him. From above, the resemblance of the merchants to ants is too apparent to ignore.

"So...what? Are you making a hobby out of stalking me," Kaz mutters. His fingers itch painfully for a cigar.

Van Eck only rolls his eyes. "Please. Let's just say that little costume of yours isn't nearly as concealing as you think it is."

"Your experiences are hardly universal Van Eck," Kaz replies, tone clipped. "Most of the men here didn't spend years watching me right under their nose."

"Well, then I suppose that gives me some sort of advantage."

But Kaz barely even blinks. "You're not going to turn me in." He isn't asking, nor is he ordering. It's a statement as obvious as ships dock in the harbor.

Van Eck hesitates, then scoffs. "You revel in that, don't you?"

"I don't revel in anything associated with the likes of you."

"Cavalier words for someone who steals documents from the good merchants of this town."

Kaz's laugh is too harsh and short to truly be called such a thing. "Van Eck, I don't think there's a single person in this godforsaken trade who has the authority to talk about _'good.'_ Least of all you."

A frown knits Van Eck's face: all downturned lips and furrowed brows. "Have that idiot brother of yours take you to a church for once in your life and you might learn to change your tune."

"Spoken like someone who hasn't had the audacity to put their own blood and sweat into making something of themselves without giving the credit to a god who barely has the time to listen to a prayer."

"I don't think there's ever been a day in your life that you've taken the time to pray.”

"Oh, I did. A while ago," Kaz assures with a short nod. "Back when I still believed there was something up there kind enough to care about the happenings of a few sinful, dirt-bound bugs. Which, mind you, hasn't been for a very long time."

Kaz's work here is done. He has what he needs, and watching Van Eck try to play the part of the holy man isn't exactly making him want to keep chatting it up. But just as he turns to leave, he hears one last call over Van Eck's shoulder.

"You know, for all your blasphemous, disrespectful ways, there's still something inside you worth salvaging." One step, two, and then he's behind him, flashing a maroon pin with the Van Eck crest in gold. "Once you get over your silly grudge, remember that my offer still stands." Two fingers tuck the pin into Kaz's pocket.

One beat. Two. Kaz's gaze darts to the pocket, and he glares blackly at Van Eck. "You're not going to stop trying, are you?"

"Just until you come to your senses."

Kaz scoffs. Roughly, he shoulders past Van Eck, storming out of the Exchange like hell nips at his heels—which, of course, it may as well be.

* * *

_"Lauke, who is that?”_

_Kaz pauses in his reading. Stray voices in the Van Eck household are nowhere near a phenomenon. Servants rush around like bees in a hive, always buzzing with the activity of nothing. Kaz has become an expert at tuning it out, but this voice is enough to catch his attention._

_He’s not sure loud is the right word, but whoever this is, they speak with much more authority than your average hushed butler. On the streets that may mean nothing, but this is the house of a Merchant Council member. There are only so many people who hold so much authority. And unless there’s another stranger waiting in their parlor, Kaz can guess they’re talking about him._

_Letting his balance sheets rest in his hands, Kaz drifts his attention to the corner around the hall. Wylan may be taking longer than usual, but he supposes there are more interesting things to study while he waits._

_From around the corner, a woman’s voice drifts in reply: Ms. Ribbink, Kaz concludes. It’s back at a time when he still bothers to remember names._

_“Kaz Rietveld, sir,” Ms. Ribbink answers with all the practiced politeness of any good maid. “He and Wylan go down to the Boeksplein to help Wylan with his classwork.”_

_There’s a pause, and the distinct, violating feeling of being watched washes over Kaz. However, the man breaks it with a huff._

_“What is he, a schoolboy,” he mutters disdainfully. “I don't see why Wylan would need to seek help from a public student when I pay for all those tutors.”_

_“Well yes sir, but Wylan tells me it’s just studying,” Ms. Ribbink continues. "He just brings his classwork and the two of them go over it. But it doesn't hurt that that Kaz boy catches on quick—he's really quite smart for his age."_

_There's a long lull, and Kaz gets the sense that the conversation is over. But then, he hears footsteps—much closer and growing closer still._

_Kaz’s eyes never leave the sheets. He doesn't want to give any indication that he was paying attention, but his peripheral spares him a glance of a gaunt man in a black suit emerging from the hall._

_A few moments pass between when Van Eck enters and any words are spoken. Kaz gives himself a few beats before he glances up as though he just noticed him. “Hm,” he says with a glance up and down. “I’m assuming you’re Mr. Van Eck.”_

_Van Eck' scrutinizes Kaz under a judgmental eye. "And I’m assuming you’re my son’s friend.”_

_At that, Kaz pauses. He likes Wylan—really, he does. But he isn’t sure he wants to be lumped into the same category as the men Jordie goes gambling with. From what he's seen, friendship is messy and fruitless. A futile distraction from what really needs to be done._

_“Friend is a...strong word,” he says after a moment of hesitation. “I prefer 'colleague.'”_

_Kaz knows that Van Eck doesn't look at him and think much. In Van Eck's eyes, he's a common boy from the streets sitting on his couch. But even though his gaze remains stony, Kaz can tell that his response was not what Van Eck was expecting._

_“...Kaz, was it,” Van Eck mutters, not waiting for an answer or acknowledging how Kaz never told him his name. “What is that you’re working on Kaz?”_

_Kaz glances at the papers in his hands. “Oh, these? These are just balance sheets.”_

_Van Eck gives Kaz a curious look. “Balance sheets?”_

_Kaz shrugs. “I just run them over for my brother. He’s a stockholder, but I’m better at technicalities than he is."_

_"Seems he's not much of a stockholder if he has to ask a schoolboy to run his numbers for him."_

_A moment of silence ticks by. Kaz looks up at Van Eck and narrows his eyes. "No offense, Mr. Van Eck, but I'm very good at what I do."_

_If Van Eck wants to speak, he can't find the words to do so. Instead, he stands there, studying Kaz like he's some strange specimen turned up in his living room._

_Just when Kaz wants to check-in to see how long Wylan is going to take, Van Eck speaks up again. "How old are you, Kaz?”_

_“Fourteen.”_

_“Hm.” His voice hums with interest._

* * *

Kaz considers himself a master of focus.

There will always be things just outside his reach of control: the rasp in his voice pneumonia left him a few years back, the scar left from a run-in with an angry drunkard on the street, the years he wasted studying at school.

Focus isn’t like that. Focus is a discipline; mastered as well as any card trick or flip of the tongue. You can master it easily if you have the right drive, and Kaz has always been one to consider himself driven.

However, as he keeps readjusting his thoughts from the information strewn before him, he’s starting to think he should give the more distractible among him a bit more credit.

From an outside perspective, there’s no reason Kaz’s concentration should be wavering. As usual, everything in his room is as it should be.

He's not obsessive, and he likes to think that he's not neurotic. But cleanliness does hold a special kind of importance to him. He makes his bed in the morning, sorts his books by genre, and puts away every quill once he's done using it. Everything has a place, and nothing is out of order.

Cleanliness is a sign of structure. Keep your surroundings orderly, and your thoughts will be orderly as well. For Kaz, it's not philosophy: it's a fact. And so, in his tidy room and organized desk, Kaz should be able to focus on the merchant files with ease.

And yet, Kaz sits in his room with a file he's read at least thrice over. He's slowly discovering that there are always silent killers that manage to slip under the radar. A plague that whispers through the city, a parasite that leeches on your health, a sin that stains your shirt black in your pocket.

 _Throw it out,_ whispers a voice at the back of his head. _You’ve done it before with no problem. Why should this time be any different?_

If there’s an answer to that question, Kaz has yet to find it. The pin still sits in the folds of his clothes: a mark of Van Eck and a force that draws Kaz’s thoughts back to him again and again.

He should have tossed it out. He should have thrown it to the street and ground it to nothing between his heel and the cobblestone. He should have done anything other than what he actually did, which is nothing at all. 

This isn’t the first time Van Eck has made the offer. But today, something keeps Kaz from tossing the pin away. It sits in his pocket, cold and enticing, and every moment Kaz thinks about it is a moment he feels sick to his stomach.

So he doesn't. Instead, Kaz tries to settle himself with promises: he _will_ rid himself of it. He'll take it from his pocket and toss it out the window. He won't think of it again, and everything will be set right.

But his concentration is only just settling when something comes along to shatter it.

Kaz's doorknob jiggles in its lock.

At the sound of it, Kaz scowls. His key sits next to him, brass and untouched, but he has no intention of acknowledging it any time soon.

He would like to think that Jordie would leave him alone after seeing how Kaz so clearly locked the door. But no amount of wishing can change the fact that Jordie is in fact, Jordie. Kaz braces himself against the following knocks by increasing his focus on the files spread over his desk.

“Kaz?”

The door muffles Jordie's voice, and Kaz tries to do the rest of the tuning-out work himself. But for all the money they sank on a house with thicker walls, Jordie's voice still slips through.

Kaz doesn't dignify him with a response, but of course, Jordie doesn't need one.

“Kaz, I know you’re in there.”

 _“And,”_ Kaz snaps, gripping the quill so tight he thinks it might snap. Whatever information might be hidden in Ahlbrinck's files, Kaz can hardly find it with Jordie pounding outside his door.

Out in the hallway, Jordie scoffs. _“And_ I wanted to see if you were still alive?" Kaz can practically hear his grin through the door: forced as ever, but still enough to run Kaz's nerves through a grater. "Come on; I haven't seen you all day."

Kaz only glares. He keeps his eyes on the sheets at his desk, not even bothering to glance at the door. "Well, now you've heard me. Happy?"

Avoiding Jordie has been a strategic move on his part. Kaz left for the Exchange before Jordie woke up, and slipped back so quietly that his brother never even knew he left. He has a busy day planned out, but entertaining Jordie is not on his list.

The two of them haven't talked since last night. And yet, Kaz intends to keep it that way. Simmering indignation sticks to him like a glow to a candle, only growing brighter anytime he so much as glimpses Jordie's crooked nose or hears his raucous voice.

Of course, now Jordie's confidence stands without support. There's too much uncertainty behind his words, too much restraint to his tone. His bravado has molted, and now Jordie holds up the shell for show. The stock suspension hit harder than ever, and with Kaz so openly avoiding him, it hits just a bit harder.

 _Good,_ Kaz thinks darkly. It's a cruel thought, ugly and foul, but Kaz isn't exactly feeling very gracious. Anger and vengeance go hand in hand, and Kaz wants to punish Jordie. He wants to yell or punch or do _something_ that would satisfy this feeling of injustice.

Of course, outbursts have never been his style. So instead, he seethes in silence, letting the quiet slice Jordie as fine as any blade.

"...Kaz, come on," Jordie sighs—breathier this time, corner of his bravado caving. "What, are you gonna be mad forever?"

Kaz only sits in silence. He doesn't want to keep talking to Jordie, but clearly, Jordie wants to keep talking to him.

There's a lull in speech, and Kaz can practically feel Jordie tense. Vulnerability fits his brother like a bad suit. When weakness starts to slide in, irritation takes its place just as quickly. Kaz can hear it in the spikes that thread Jordie's voice like a porcupine pricking up its needles.

"Look, I'm trying to fix this," Jordie continues; harder this time. "I messed up. I get it! But I'm trying to work things out, alright? So could you maybe just loosen up a _little bit?"_

Jordie waits. The silence ticks on. Kaz stays quiet.

There are a million things he could think to say, but all of them move so fast that they fall short of tangible. So instead Kaz sits, waiting and seething as Jordie huffs and footsteps start to fade down the hall.

But in the wake of confrontation, Kaz doesn't do anything. He simply sits there, swallowing his bitterness and feeling frustration wind around him; thick and suffocating as any jungle snake.

The pin stays in Kaz's pocket. He can't help thinking that guilt is a punishment few deserve.

* * *

_He has ruddy cheeks and cinnamon-colored curls. He’s only a year younger than Kaz, but with his round face and freckle-dappled cheeks, the age difference seems much larger._

_It doesn’t matter though, because he understands more than most of the classmates Kaz has come across. He thinks with the mind of a scholar and he speaks with the words of an artist, and what he becomes is a strange blend of the two._

_He is a fond thought to Kaz. He is a recollection of long talks and unspoken understanding. Perhaps if everything had gone right, that's all he would have been. But in his warm memories and rose-tinted dreams, he teaches Kaz the meaning of cruelty._

* * *

_Ping. Ping. Ping._

The pebbles plink against the glass, one by one. 

It’s become something of a pattern to Kaz: grab, wind up, toss, _ping._ Eyes on the window, direction just right, nice graceful arc, ping of rock on the window. It’s easy, simple, and skillful. Kaz might even find it calming if he were in the right mood.

But he's not. His arm is sore from lobbing pebbles at a window, and in his dark suit and rumpled tie, he feels ridiculous. He's quickly learning that there's no dignified way to chuck rocks at someone's window, and the darkness of midnight bleeding the light from his eyes certainly doesn't help. 

_"What if you need to contact me again," she had asked, setting her teacup down on the table. There is no silence in the space between them. The Menagerie fills each breath with its own—sighs of quiet footsteps and forbidden cries. The brothel is, after all, just another crease in the city's sleepless skin._

_Kaz doesn't focus on that. He studies the way the candlelight kisses Inej's cheeks, gentle with golden grace. "Then I'll walk through the front door. Unless you want me to shimmy through a window like a rodent."_

_He smiles. Inej does not._

_"So...what? You just expect me to wait in the parlor every night, hoping you might grace me with your presence?"_

_There's a pause between them, and a hollow cry from above slips through the floorboards._

_"Inej, I don't think I'll need to update you as often as you think I will."_

_"And if you do?"_

Kaz didn’t think he would. This is his project, and independence is something he's always thrived on. He can hardly see himself reporting to anyone his findings, let alone a girl who is just one thread in his grand tapestry of a plan. 

But the lack of privacy in the Menagerie a choking smoke that presses from all sides. Last night it was a girl half asleep on the couch. But the next night it could be a girl too nosy for her own good or a customer with an eye on Inej and a few extra kruge in their pocket. 

Kaz has a hand on the Menagerie like he has a hand on the shifting of tides. To seek out Inej blindly would be to slip his leash on control.

Kaz has never been good at giving up control.

When Inej throws open the windows, light sweeps over the alleyway in a soft, muted halo. Kaz can't help seeing her at the source, arms spread wide against the windows, and thinking of the angels that came down from the heavens to bequeath the sun.

 _Ironic_ , he thinks amusedly, taking in Inej's drowsy eyelids and glare that is certainly far from saintly.

Spying Kaz below her window, Inej frowns and blearily blinks the sleep from her eyes. "You know...it's alright to visit people at reasonable times of the day," she mutters, voice smeared with a yawn.

"And I suppose if I were attending a friend's social I would wait to leave until the party ended," Kaz replies shortly. "But I don't do either when I'm not in the mood for a chat. This is not a visit, Inej. It's a business trip. You don't take time to rest when there's work to be done."

The way Inej looks at Kaz, you would think he was a stray cat showing up at her door after she fed him one too many times. He can't tell if her eyes are narrowed from irritation or exhaustion, but neither option seems to work in his favor. Kaz half expects her to slam the windows in his face and leave him to his whims in the dank alley and cloud-drawn night.

But she doesn't. She's silent for what seems like ages, and then out of nowhere, she sighs—long and tired, the same way one does when they think they've seen everything, and the world still finds ways to surprise them. She scoffs, shakes her head, then folds her arms, and leans on the windowsill.

Inej's eyes draw Kaz up and down like a map to a cartographer, and Kaz knows what she sees. Tousled hair from time spent ignored, fingers blackened with ink stains, eyes that spark with that strange blend of ambition and momentum that tells empires to keep building.

"...Seems like someone's been busy," she murmurs quietly, cocking a curious brow.

Kaz only glares and blows a strand of hair from his face. When he lets it get untamed, he looks more like Jordie than he would like.

"That's one word for it," he huffs. The day turns his voice raw in his throat, but it's a pain he welcomes like the city welcomes plague. It keeps him grounded, and in a strange way, keeps him sane.

"I need a favor."

Inej looks at Kaz and sighs roughly; exasperated but not shocked. "Of course. I'm assuming the note wasn't enough?"

Kaz shrugs and straightens his tie. "Believe it or not, your note was...quite helpful, to say the least."

* * *

_Kaz raps the brass knocker against the wood. Once. Twice. On the third time, the door opens with a creak._

_"Hello?" A pale man with clear bags under his eyes peers out the door._

_"Mr. Cornello?" Kaz clears his throat. "I'm Kaz Rietveld. I hear you've had a rather unfortunate run-in with some con artists."_

_Cornello scowls, bushy eyebrows falling in tune. "What of it," he growls in a gravelly voice._

_But Kaz only gives the polite smile he's practiced so many times. It's not very hard; men like Cornello hardly work to frighten him._

_"Nothing at all sir," Kaz says with a small nod. "I'm just...looking into it, if you could say. Do you mind...?"_

_Cornello pauses for a long while. He raises his gaze over Kaz studying him from head to toe._

_With a grunt, the door eases open._

* * *

_"Nelis Cornello,"_ he says, running a thumb over his cufflinks. "Ring any bells?"

Inej gazes at Kaz, cocking her head curiously. Her braid swings in tandem, and Kaz can't help noticing how her lynx costume is nowhere in sight. A shoulderless blouse and easy braid replaces her midriff and mask.

It's a basic set of sleepware, yet somehow the sight of it is more intimate than any bells and silks she could ever wear.

Of course, Kaz doesn't let himself think about that. Instead, he listens as Inej purses her lips, then parts them and says, "What about him?"

"Exchange merchant. Specializes in metals and ores from Novyi Zem," Kaz explains, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Three weeks ago he made one of the biggest trades of his life, and two weeks ago he lost it all in an easy scam."

Understanding sparks in Inej's eye. "I'm assuming this is the same scam you're so closely acquainted with."

"You catch on fast," Kaz confirms with a brief nod. "Cornello said that a young boy is the one who took his order for the deal, but two days ago he saw not that same boy running around the Barrel bearing a very insteresting gang tattoo where his sleeve once was."

Pieces click together like a puzzle in a box. Kaz noticed it as Cornello explained things over a cup of tea, and he knows Inej sees it now.

And yet, there's one thing she can't put together.

"What is it that you want from me, Kaz," Inej asks, brows burrowing slightly. "You know I'm not a faucet. You might find there's something you want that I just can't give."

"Oh, but you can certainly give me this," Kaz confirms. "I know you don't get out much, but this brothel is right in the Barrel, and you seem like the perceptive type."

"I'm heading into the Barrel tomorrow, Inej. And right now, I need you to tell me everything you know."

* * *

Kaz has always been annoyed by Van Eck's showy devotion to religion. He claims things in the name of morality, but even if Kaz did have much faith in morals, he doesn't think that people find them by preaching.

What makes a person good or bad isn't what they believe. It's what they do. It's this idea that makes Kaz unsure of what he is.

Most of the time, he thinks he's a devil. But only a saint could pull the strings that makes him feel the things he does.

He doesn't like to waste time mulling over either. So for now, Kaz decides, he'll settle on some place in between.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look I know this might be a bit convoluted but I swear it'll all make sense :') just work with me here and feel free to ask any questions-
> 
> As always, try to leave a comment! I know I'm not as good a writer as a lot of the people here, but I do have a lot of fun writing these chapters and I'm always working to improve. It's nice when I get to see the people who might check out my stories, so maybe just leave a quick emoji or something like that!


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